


Captured

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2016) [10]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Dark, Drama, Drug Use, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Generally Creepy Ass Shit, Implied Past Underage, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other, Spoilers, references to past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6814180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson normally photographs girls. But he’ll never pass up an interesting subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that along with physical masturbation, this also Jefferson basically jacking off to his own ego.

Nathan Prescott is not innocent. He is not pure.  
  
He represents the cynicism of youth, and that is not what Jefferson wants.  
  
But there is something _fascinating_ in his eyes when he’s in the midst of whatever drug he’s bummed off that loser Frank, something glassy and serene that doesn’t quite make him look _dead_ , but… Less than alive, certainly.  
  
It’s different when Jefferson photographs the girls. The girls are more… Useful? Is that the word he’s looking for? They are more malleable. Varied. He gets more shots out of them, and almost all of them have something that makes them beautiful, makes them stunning in their own way. He has a full binder dedicated to each girl for that very reason; he can never choose just a handful of shots. There are always so many.  
  
Nathan, though- Nathan is a challenge. Jefferson ties him up the way he ties the girls: To chairs, piping, legs bound, legs splayed, one rope, ropes everywhere, suspended from the ceiling, collapsed on the floor, hands on their laps, hands behind their backs- but it is never _easy_ to get a good photograph from Nathan.  
  
There’s always something. The lighting is wrong. The angle that looks good through the lens comes across as awkward on paper. His limbs look too tense. His expression is too alert when it doesn’t need to be. Maybe it’s because he’s a boy, maybe the girls are naturally more photogenic (which would make sense, since Jefferson took so much time to choose them), or maybe it’s because it’s just Nathan Fucking Prescott, Pain in the Ass Extraordinaire.  
  
But he still tries, tries because when he does succeed, when he does find just the right angle, when he captures just the right look on Nathan’s face, when he twists the boy’s pliant body into just the right positions, Nathan makes for an amazing subject. Jefferson looks through their sessions later, irritably deleting the photos immediately deemed as trash  
  
When Jefferson photographs the girls, there is no sexuality in it.  
  
They are beautiful, angelic in many cases; what he wants is their purity, and the moment that purity becomes something obscene, corrupted. But in a way, this corruption must be pure; it must come from them, internally, because of their own personal processing, and not because they have been intentionally defiled by him.  
  
With Nathan…  
  
Really, it doesn’t make so much sense. Nathan is photographed in mostly the same way that they are. He is not naked, is not doing anything sexual, couldn’t even if he wanted to due to the restraints.  
  
But there is something strangely… _erotic_ present in his sessions that isn’t present in the girls’. There is something about Nathan that tinges these encounters with an undeniably sexual hue. Even Rachel, beautiful as she was, as sexual as she could be, did not have this effect during her session.  
  
Nathan keeps twitching, groaning, apparently confused as to why he’s still bound. He can’t be photographed like this, not with any real efficiency, and so Jefferson grits his teeth and snaps the zip-tie holding Nathan’s wrists in place before going over to his computer and connecting the camera.  
  
It’s not a terrible loss; he’s gotten a fair amount of photos from this session. It’s just a matter of finding those few that actually look amazing, the ones that remind him why these shoots are even worth the effort in the first place. Surprisingly, there are a fair number of decent photos in the bunch- not spectacular, but not worthless either. One in particular catches his eye, one where Nathan’s bent backwards and the curve of his neck is on display.  
  
Jefferson can’t help it. A hand slips down to the front of his pants.  
  
To be clear, it’s not that it’s shame; he feels as much shame about this as he does anything else (that is to say, none). It’s simply that he values himself as the consummate professional, and masturbating to your own work (whilst amusing as a concept) was terribly unprofessional.  
  
Still, it’s unavoidable considering his subject. One of the first things he did when he took Nathan under his wing was to take that pale neck under his own hands and _squeeze_ until the boy choked, gasped, just to see what would happen. Just to see how far he could push before Nathan started getting antsy. And Jefferson had been terribly pleased to see that even after flirting with unconsciousness, Nathan had still stared at him with that pitiful look of submissive loyalty.  
  
The memory arouses him further, and a grunt escapes him as he palms himself harder through his pants. There’s some urge to just yank them down and have full access, but no, no- he has more self-control than that. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be any better than Nathan.  
  
He flips through more pictures. Trash. Trash. Slightly better than trash. Almost decent. Trash, Decent at first glance, but actually trash. Almost decent. Trash. Trash. Trash-  
  
_There_.  
  
Jefferson leans forward to confirm he hasn’t overlooked some small detail that would render the photo flawed. There isn’t one. This one is one of those rare, beautiful successes that looks… _Stunning._  
  
Nathan’s neck is still bared, not quite as much as the other one, but still enticing. His elbows strike a fascinating contrast, bending backwards in the direction opposite the curve of his throat. His legs are twisted just so, one ankle lying across the other. But the eyes, the eyes are what make it perfect: They’re glossed over, but there is a tiny, _tiny_ hint of awareness that comes through, a tiny candle flickering in a dark house.  
  
From the set, Nathan groans again, and it goes straight to Jefferson’s groin.  
  
There is, he considers as studies Nathan and continues his fondling, an art to losing one’s composure in a fashion that appears to be composed. One could argue that masturbating through your pants whilst viewing (what some would term) illicit photos of one of your recently-no-longer underage students was a loss of composure on its own, but really, it was far better than losing it completely and fucking Nathan over his desk. That had only happened once, and not for lack of wanting.  
  
No, to allow oneself to lose composure without seeming to do so, it required tact. It required allowing oneself to indulge whilst still holding back the worst of it. He’d become an expert at it in his time with Nathan.  
  
“Nathan,” Jefferson coos. The boy lifts his head and rolls over so that he’s facing him fully. From this distance, it’s hard to tell if Nathan’s starting to sober up or if he’s every bit as high as he was before; it’s never clear how long it will last, since he’s been known to take cocktails of the sort of volatile substances that would have made Jefferson’s user college classmates gag. “Nathan?”  
  
“Maaaark…” It must have taken him a moment to realize he could speak. He might not always be coherent enough to stop himself from making noises or moving during their sessions, but Nathan always seems to avoid talking when he’s not supposed to. Whether or not that’s always a conscious decision on his part or Nathan not being able to string two words together was unclear.  
  
Jefferson waits for Nathan to pull himself together. It takes maybe five to ten minutes for the teenager to pull himself into a sitting position on the white tarp, looking vaguely confused about his surroundings the whole time. Jefferson makes no attempt to assist, to help him up; he stays right where he is, idly stroking himself, and waits for Nathan to do it himself, the picture of control.  
  
Everything he hopes that, at some point, Nathan might fucking _attempt_ to be.  
  
When Nathan is finally sitting upright, facing him, with something that can pass as a coherent expression on his face, Jefferson smiles in the benevolent way that has proven to work the best with Nathan when he wants something beyond what is usually typical for him.  
  
“Come here,” He says, kindly, and Nathan crawls slowly over because that’s likely all he’s capable of at the moment.  
  
He doesn’t try to stand when he gets to the desk, just kneels down in front of Jefferson, shuts his eyes, and lets his head loll onto the older man’s knee. He might sleep- pass-out, really- if left alone, and that’s not what Jefferson wants right now. “Nathan,” He says softly, carding a hand through his hair. “Nathan, stay with me.”  
  
“Mm?” Nathan looks up at him. There’s some clarity there, enough so that this might go well.  
  
“I found some good ones,” Jefferson says conversationally. The hand not in Nathan’s hair is still working away at his pants, but at a pace that could be described as leisurely. “And I found a great one.”  
  
“Oh.” He wavers a bit, and his hands shakily come to grasp Jefferson’s leg to steady himself. “Thas good.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” Jefferson agrees. “I’m quite pleased with your performance.”  
  
Nathan mumbled something unintelligible. The only bit he could catch was “me” at the end.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Are you gonna fuck me?”  
  
Jefferson’s eyes narrowed sharply, and the hand that had previously been stroking through the teenager’s hair came to an abrupt stop, clutching at the strands in an intentionally painful grip. “Don’t be crude, Nathan.”  
  
Nathan flinches, twisting his head a bit in an effort to reduce the pain. “Sorry.”  
  
“This is a nice moment. If you’re going to use your mouth in some filthy way, I’d rather you did it in a way that I prefer.” It is, perhaps, the most roundabout way of asking for oral sex that Jefferson’s ever heard. Really, he couldn’t have been any classier about it if he’d tried.  
  
It would seem that the pain of having his hair yanked has woken Nathan up a bit. The slur to his voice has decreased, and his eyes certainly seem clearer now too. “You want me to…” He stops, maybe just short of using a turn of phrase for this particular act that Jefferson would not approve of. He nods to the bulge in the older man’s pants less than a few inches away from his face.  
  
“I wouldn’t object to it.”  
  
And so Nathan gets to it, clumsily unbuckling Jefferson’s belt and sliding his pants down. Jefferson watches with no small amount of satisfaction, pleased to be getting exactly what he wants without having to lose his composure, and managing to stay in control of himself and Nathan all at the same time.  
  
Really, he considers, one of Nathan’s worst problems is his mouth. He has a lot of trouble keeping it shut, or having worthwhile words come out of it. Jefferson considers it a personal achievement that he’s taught Nathan a more practical usage for it. One that he excels at when he’s sober, less so when he’s high, but not so much that it isn’t worth the time.  
  
And really, Nathan’s mouth feels so much better on his cock than his own hand.  
  
As Nathan works, Jefferson’s head rolls to the side, and he sees the camera on the desk. At first the idea seems… Crude. Nearly as much so as Nathan’s earlier remark. He was a serious photographer, an artist, a visionary; not a smut peddler.  
  
Still, though… Nathan has surprised him before.  
  
And Jefferson is always willing to capture an interesting subject.  
  
He picks up the camera, points it down, and takes the picture.  
  
-End

**Author's Note:**

> …IDK man apparently my brain took one look at this asshole and said “Okay, this guy is creepy, but how can we bring the creep-factor up to eleven?”


End file.
